


Dead to rights

by apathyinreverie



Series: The Lightwood-Bane Collection of Strays in Trouble [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, BAMF Peter Hale, BAMF Stiles, Hurt Peter Hale, M/M, Peter knows Magnus, Power Couple Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Pre-Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23907565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverie
Summary: Finally, the door in front of him opens, and Stiles doesn’t even give the man who appears the time to say anything, before he is already blurting out a demand of, "I'm looking for Magnus Bane. Does he live here?"The guy in the doorway - tall, stupidly pretty, tattooed from head to toe with black runey-looking shapes - just raises an eyebrow at him, quite likely less than impressed at Stiles deciding to just forgo any sort of social convention that says he should at least introduce himself when showing up at a stranger’s door.“Hm,” the guy finally hums, lips tilting into something of a smirk. "MagnusLightwood-Bane does."
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Peter Hale, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Lightwood-Bane Collection of Strays in Trouble [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1481216
Comments: 331
Kudos: 1544





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles tries to still his twitching as he waits impatiently for someone to open the heavy wooden door in front of him.

Everything about this is making him twitchy.

Not only the life-or-death reason that brought him here in the first place, but also the uncertainty of it all, the chance that he might currently be poking at things far above his pay grade, something he’d sworn to himself he’d never do again. Not after the nogitsune.

He tried poking at something far more powerful than himself once, had poked at the nemeton, only to find himself possessed by an ancient fox spirit, who’d promptly taken his body for a homicidal joyride. Stiles would honestly like to avoid repeating that particular experience.

If only, because that very situation is also the reason, why he has now found himself without options, no allies to fall back on, no friends to listen to him. His pack doesn’t trust him any longer. _Scott_ doesn’t trust him any longer. His best friend can barely look at him on most days. 

Stiles has been pushed to the fringes of the pack. Just like Peter always used to be.

And now, they’ve taken it a step further, did to Peter what they did to Stiles while he had still been possessed by the nogitsune. They locked up Peter in Eichen.

Thing is, Stiles knows what Eichen is like, knows it’s not a place where you put people just because they might have done something you don’t agree with, just because they don’t fully agree with Scott’s ‘everyone deserves a second, and third, and fourth, chance’ sentiment. Eichen is a place for the truly insane, the ones who kill indiscriminately, the uncontrollable.

Like the nogitsune had been. Like Peter very much isn’t.

Sure, Peter might be a little more on the homicidal end of the spectrum, tends to lean towards kill-it-first-ask-questions-later, but ever since his brief stint into actual insanity right after waking from his coma to find himself abandoned by whatever remained of his pack, the werewolf has had a very clear grip of himself, too meticulous to ever get caught doing anything against their pack’s doctrine of everyone-gets-absolved-of-their-sins-unless-their-name-is-Peter-Hale. Or Stiles Stilinski, as it turned out recently.

The point is, sticking Peter in Eichen is more than a little excessive.

And Stiles protested, oh did he ever.

But not a single one of his pack listened to him. Scott can barely look at him these days and – no matter how much Stiles loves his brother – he is fully aware that Scott is more than a little hypocritical when it comes to measuring other people’s acts against his own. Derek never forgave Peter for killing Laura and when the idea of locking his uncle up was first brought up, he almost didn’t seem to care either way. Lydia is still holding a grudge, Kira would never go against Scott, same for most of the rest of the pack. And there just isn’t anyone else.

So, Stiles knew he needed help from the outside if he wanted to have a chance to get Peter out of that hellhole.

The problem is just that Stiles’ own supernatural contacts don't extend far beyond Beacon Hills and everyone in the general area seems to hate Peter with a passion that is almost a little confusing to Stiles at times.

So, without any options, no friends or allies or contacts of his own to fall back on, Stiles had gone on a rather desperate search through Peter’s stuff after warding the man’s apartment to heaven and back before the rest of the pack could decide to tear through Peter’s things. Stiles loves them, he does. But they locked Peter away, so they quite simply do not get to pick through his things for anything useful to take for themselves. They lost that right.

Stiles had been hoping for _something_ that might help him, either something to let him get Peter out himself, or maybe a hint at a friend of Peter’s who Stiles could call, or even just the contact of someone who owed the werewolf a life debt or something along those lines. Peter has been around, Stiles knows. He _must_ know a couple of people outside of Beacon Hills from before the fire, before his coma, before everything went to shit in his life. Just something that Stiles could exploit in order to get some help in breaking Peter out.

And then, he’d found something. Something small, something that he almost missed. Just a name signed on the inside of quite a number of Peter’s more ancient tomes.

_Magnus Bane._

It had actually taken Stiles a while to notice the recurring name at all, likely never would have noticed at all if he hadn’t coincidentally checked four of them in a row, his brain pinging at reading the same name in quick succession. But once he _had_ noticed, he’d immediately gone back, looked through Peter’s entire, truly-not-inconsiderable collection of books.

The name Magnus Bane had been signed in twenty-seven of them.

Twenty-seven rather ancient tomes, some of which Stiles actually knew from Peter having brought them along for some of their how-to-fight-the-monster-of-the-week research binges.

And not only that, but about half of those books also carried a little note, more often than not declaring the book a present for a birthday or for Peter finishing his degree or for opening his law firm – which Stiles didn’t even know about until then – or for some other reason, always signed with the name ‘Magnus Bane’ and even including at least a year if not an entire date, making it clear that the gifts spanned quite a number of years.

Meaning, whoever this Magnus Bane person is, he definitely knows Peter, cared enough to gift the werewolf with expensive tomes in celebration of all the bigger milestones throughout his life, and – most importantly – this man is also clearly part of the supernatural, what with all of the books carrying his name being something very much outside of what people consider normal. The topics ranging from rituals and runes to alchemy and all kinds of creatures.

So.

It might not be quite what Stiles had been looking for – having more hoped for something like a random note stuck between the pages of one of Peter’s book, maybe with a phone number and maybe a convenient hint like ‘call in emergencies’ or something along those lines – but at the same time, it’s also more than he had actually thought he would find.

The one thing that had been easy was to find the man’s general location. He only needed to mention the name Magnus Bane to one of his more eccentric contacts outside of Beacon Hills and he’d promptly been pointed towards New York.

And then it had been a simple matter of tracking the man magically.

Which had turned out to be quite a bit more difficult than he had honestly anticipated. Or rather, it had been impossible. No matter how hard he’d tried to _believe_ , nothing at all had pinged on his senses, not even pointing him in a particular direction.

Stiles had been almost about ready to throw in the towel, when he’d finally caught a break. He’d been in some random back alley somewhere, giving his tracking another go, when he’d run into a werewolf from one of the local packs, possibly even an alpha by the way she carried herself. And the woman – around his age, dark-skinned, and really rather stunning, but since when is that in any way news where werewolves are concerned – had not only been able to tell that Stiles was at least nominally part of a werewolf pack. But also, when Stiles told her his reason for coming here – namely trying to find Magnus Bane to ask him for his help with something – she’d simply smiled, gave him an address, and then meandered off with a smirk and a cheerful wave.

Like some stranger from a different pack - and from a different part of the country - showing up in this city while looking specifically for Magnus Bane to ask for his help, were nothing particularly notable at all.

Which is at least giving him hope that Magnus Bane will indeed be able to help. The question that remains, is whether he’ll _want_ to. And what his price will be.

All of which brings Stiles here, to a hallway in a ridiculously fancy building, knocking on a door that is fairly humming with the intensity of the wards clearly surrounding this place. Wards so strong they seemed almost _tangible_ when he touched the door. Which is definitely new. And the thought of just how powerful whoever lives here must be for their wards to be this strong, certainly isn’t helping his general anxiety much.

It’s still not enough to deter him. But Stiles is here on a mission. Quite literally.

Finally, the door in front of him opens, a man appearing in the doorway, and – instead of first maybe trying for a polite greeting or something – Stiles promptly blurts out a demand of, "Are you Magnus?"

The guy in the doorway - tall, stupidly pretty, tattooed with black runey-looking shapes from head to toe - just blinks at him, raises an eyebrow at Stiles’ decision to kind of skip every single step social conventions demand he adhere to - you know, like introducing yourself first - but then doesn't actually say anything, apparently happy to wait him out.

"I assume that’s a no then?" Stiles forges on, jittery from lack of sleep and nerves and sugary gas station donuts and too much coffee. "I'm looking for Magnus Bane. Does he live here?" he insists again.

"Hm," the guy hums, lips tilting into something of a smirk. "Magnus _Lightwood_ -Bane does."

Stiles blinks at the emphasis.

But whatever, should be the same guy. The combination of names ‘Magnus’ and ‘Bane’ is rare enough to give him confidence in that.

“Yeah, alright,” Stiles nods. “ _Him_.”

The guy in the doorway watches Stiles for another couple of seconds, gaze assessing. And _boy_ , is that stare intense. Stiles didn’t think anyone could ever possibly hold a candle to Derek’s scowl-of-gloom, but this guy has got the sourwolf beat just with his stare alone, no frowning or looming or throwing-Stiles-into-walls for emphasis needed.

As he holds the stare, Stiles can’t help but absently hope he'll never see this guy show actual displeasure. _Because that oughta be terrifying._

And whatever the guy sees in Stiles’ expression – quite likely picking up on his anxiety and the urgency he feels whenever he thinks of the fact that the full moon is in three days and that Peter simply doesn’t _deserve_ to be locked up somewhere during, unable to run, to turn, unable to even see the moon – is apparently enough to have him turn just the slightest bit.

"Magnus," he calls into the apartment stretching out behind himself.

Barely seconds later another man appears beside the first, eyes already on Stiles.

"Yes, darling," the new arrival smiles, hand coming to rest on the first man’s back in a way that makes the sort of relationship these two have rather clear. Stiles can’t help but take note of it. If only because it has an absent sort of longing through him.

He himself had _just_ found the balls to actually let himself go where his heart and his dick have been wanting to go for months now, just in time for the only guy who has ever really seemed to truly get him to be locked behind bars in a torture-happy mental asylum. By their own pack, no less.

Because of course Stiles’ timing is just that excellent.

The second man - who is also probably the ‘Magnus’ Stiles has been looking for – is quite a bit more colorful than the first. No tattoos, expression cheerful, free of any sort of frown. Instead he looks like he could have just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. Seriously, the hair and the makeup and the sheer amount of jewelry that should honestly just look ridiculous but simply _doesn't_ and dammit all, but the world is just unfair with how some people can simply pull off any look no matter what it may be and look fucking fabulous all the while. Stiles can barely pull off the adventurous combination of t-shirt and jeans.

But he is getting distracted again.

There is the slightest pause between the three of them.

Before Stiles can actually say anything, most-likely-Magnus-Bane is raising an eyebrow at him. "My," he says slowly. "It's been _decades_ since I met a Spark with your raw power levels. How intriguing. What brings you to my doorstep?"

_Ah good_ , Stiles thinks, ignoring just how casually this guy picked out just what Stiles is. _So they_ do _know about the supernatural and might actually be of some help. Thank the fucking gods._

"I need help," Stiles says, pauses. "Well, _Peter_ needs help," he amends. And then - at the thought that he might actually get help here - everything just comes tumbling out. "They locked Peter in Eichen and that's just ridiculous because he didn't even really do anything this time around. Well, except for that mess with Kate, but really, who can blame him for going after her? And, well, there was also the thing with Meredith, but I’ll eat my laptop if she was actually telling us the truth. Well, at least not the _entire_ truth… But the pack is convinced he needs to be locked away and I need to get him out before those psycho doctors torture him into _actual_ insanity, I mean beyond his personal brand of psychotic murdery-ness. But the pack wouldn't help. And then I found your name in some of his books, and I asked around and people seem to know you everywhere, so I came here, and I tried to track you, but I couldn’t, and how did you even hide yourself, because I really had to pull out all the stops to even get a hint at your presence. And then I met Maia and she told me where to find you. And also, I’m supposed to tell you that Maia says hi."

He cuts himself off when the man finally holds up a hand, stopping the flood of words. But his smile is kind as he says, "Back up, little spark. Who is this Peter we are talking about?"

"Hale," Stiles provides promptly, kind of wanting to kick himself for forgetting that rather important tidbit. "Peter Hale."

Magnus blinks, something in his eyes changing rather abruptly, expression suddenly intent in a way that seems almost threatening in itself. And Stiles’ survival instincts are a mere breath away from screeching at him in alarm.

“I was under the impression that Peter died alongside his entire family years ago,” the man then says slowly, something weighty in his voice, eyes attentively fixed on Stiles. Watching him.

Stiles blinks in surprise. “Oh,” he says, tries to make his brain take several steps backwards on the timeline to clarify, “Most of them did. But Peter didn’t. He was stuck in a coma for six years.”

A second, and then Magnus’ expression seems to smooth out even as his eyes remain intent, something dark shimmering through them. He can feel the man’s power everywhere around him, feels it in the way the _very air_ seems to be humming with this man’s magic.

_And, yeah, this guy has power in **spades**_ , Stiles can’t help but think a little incredulously, torn between fascination and those rather finely tuned survival instincts he’s got these days.

And then, Magnus is suddenly stepping back, holding the door for Stiles to enter. "Why don't you come inside?" he asks. "And then tell me what exactly has been going on with my little moonshine."

Stiles blinks. Whether at the sudden change, the power he can feel vibrating in the air, or the fact that there is apparently someone who has a nickname for Peter aside from Stiles, he doesn't actually know.

Well, whatever.

At least it seems he might actually be getting some help here.

_Hallelujah, and all that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay. So, I don't actually know all that much about Teen Wolf beyond what the fandom itself has shown me, while my unapologetic Peter/Stiles-forever sentiment is solely to blame on cywscross’ stories, which are awesome and addictive and have me convinced that Peter and Stiles are gods and belong together. So there :)
> 
> Still, since I honestly have no clue just how much this messes with canon worldbuilding or events, this is a bit of a test run to see if this even makes any sense at all. So, feel free to let me if there is anything in this I got entirely wrong and I’ll try to fix it. I'll just claim creative license for the rest of it.
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles looks around himself.

The apartment he has found himself in is really rather fancy, so much _stuff_ scattered about, and the many ancient books he can see on the shelves have his fingers twitching with the need to go nosing around a little. Or, well, _a lot_.

But.

He came here for a reason and he is not going to waste these people’s willingness to at least listen to him and get himself kicked out before he ever gets around to actually asking for their help. Freeing Peter comes first, nagging these people into possibly giving Stiles access to some of their magical knowledge can come afterwards.

So, he ignores the countless old tomes on the shelves, ignores the glimpse he gets of something that looks like a study filled with even _more_ interesting things to his left, ignores the various knick-knacks scattered about despite some of them practically _humming_ with magic, does his best to ignore it all. And then, they get to what appears to be the living room and he simply can’t help but falter slightly at the sight through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room.

The sight of a city that is most certainly _not_ New York, what with the rather distinct lack of skyscrapers and instead boasting several definitely-somewhat-magical, _glowing_ , sky-high obelisks scattered between a sprawling collection of almost medieval-looking buildings.

He blinks. _Yeah, definitely not New York._

“Wha-?” he starts, honestly baffled.

Magnus, who led the way into the living room, is already smiling. “Ah, welcome to Idris,” he says, waving grandly at the view that still makes absolutely no sense. “I had to get a little creative when we moved here from New York since we didn’t want to leave behind anyone seeking either of us out.” He spreads his hands in a far too casual so-I-solved-it sort of gesture. “And a door that doubles as a portal to two sites at once seemed to do the trick.”

He says it so easily, like what he just said makes any sense whatsoever and doesn’t casually undermine everything Stiles ‘knew’ about the restrictions on what magic can accomplish.

Stiles quite literally has to bite his tongue in order to keep his mouth shut. Because, _questions_. He has so many damn _questions_.

At least the rather indulgent smile he can see on the tattooed guy’s face – whose name Stiles still doesn’t actually know – Magnus’ nonchalance at describing insane magical feats might be more of a personal thing than a realistic depiction of how difficult performing them might be. Which… is reassuring and terrifying in equal measure. Reassuring, because apparently this isn’t normal, so casually ripping holes into the laws of physics and reality like that isn’t something many people can do. Terrifying, because of what it says about just how insanely powerful this Magnus guy apparently is.

 _So_ , Stiles thinks. _Let’s just try to get through today without pissing off the ridiculously powerful whatever-the-fuck-he-may-be, shall we._

Magnus is gesturing at one of the armchairs for Stiles to take a seat in, while he and tattoo-guy take a seat on the sofa across from him, their hands easily slipping together, something so natural about the way their fingers intertwine on Magnus’ knee that it has Stiles swallow a little. The last time he saw two people be that attuned, that natural with each other was back when he was still a kid, before his mom got sick, when his life was still pure cotton-candy-happiness.

“Would you like something to drink?” Magnus then asks.

And Stiles honestly just wants to get to the point now, so jittery with the need to get Peter out, wants to tell his story, wants to get these people on his side, so they can finally start planning Peter’s rescue. With each hour wasted, his hope of possibly getting the creeperwolf out of Eichen before the next full moon dwindling ever-further. Just the trip back to Beacon Hills is going to take them a day at least and that only leaves them with barely another two days to stage the rescue. Which seems rather unlikely for them to be able to pull off.

Still.

 _Polite, Stiles_ , he reminds himself. _Be polite_. Because he needs these people. _Peter_ needs these people.

So, he makes himself nod, and asks, “Water?” He ignores his slightly bouncing knee or that jittery, anxious feeling in his chest that has his fingers twitching slightly against his thigh with the need to work towards getting Peter _out_.

Magnus smiles calmly, soothingly, even as he twirls his fingers. And three glasses just pop into existence on the table in front of them. A tall glass of water with a slice of lemon and ice-cubes in front of Stiles, a long-stemmed glass with something that looks suspiciously like a martini in front of Magnus, and a cup with something steaming in front of tattoo-guy.

And Stiles’ twitching rather abruptly stills.

He blinks at the drinks in front of him, his mind finally dragging itself out of that endless loop of _gottahelpPetergottahelpPeter_ and _wanthimbackwanthimback_ that has been circling through his mind ever since he found out the pack had simply gone ahead with the plan to lock Peter up without telling Stiles the final decision had already been made, only informing him afterwards.

But it’s this last bit of casual magic – not the double-portal thing, not the magic he can feel all around him in this apartment, not even the magic he can feel radiating from Magnus himself – that has a sudden fierce hope darting through his chest that these people aren’t only willing to help but they will also be truly _able_ to.

Because despite everything he has seen, darachs and the nogitsune and druids and even Eichen House itself, magic has never been _casual_.

Whenever he’s come across magic, it has always been this expensive sort of commodity, something to be used with care, something near-unattainable, to be traded for, sacrificed for, requiring days of research and stupidly complex rituals to be prepared beforehand, something to be harnessed and hoarded and never to be spent on anything frivolous. He has never seen anyone use magic like this.

The nonchalant ease with which Magnus twirls his fingers and bends reality to his whim, like there is nothing to it, like magic is just a thing he can do, something almost ordinary, every-day, just a normal part of his life, like he has _so much of it_ that hoarding his power simply isn’t something he has to deal with…

Never mind that this goes against everything Stiles has seen of magic so far.

And clearly, Magnus can read the rather humongous question marks now dancing happy circles around Stiles’ head, because instead of asking him for an explanation of his side of things yet, an explanation of what brought him here, of what exactly is going on with Peter, he tilts his head and asks, “I take it you haven’t actually been told about the Shadowworld yet?”

And that’s how Stiles finds himself receiving a crash course on an entire world full of not-quite-ordinary beings that goes far beyond anything that he had been aware of until now, werewolves and the few other bits that Stiles has encountered so far only a fraction of the greater whole.

Learn something new every day.

_So_ , Stiles thinks, blinking somewhat rapidly. _Warlocks_.

Not the I-can-do-magic-but-I-don't-like-the-term-druid-so-I'm-calling-myself-something-fancy sort, but rather the sort that is _born_ with magic, the sort that makes everything Stiles has seen of magic users so far seem utterly _laughable_ in comparison. Warlocks who, _oh by the way_ , are also apparently half demon.

Because of course demons are an actual thing as well. Why wouldn’t they be? Why not just add a couple of all-powerful, ancient, not-even-earth-dwelling creatures to the insanity that has been Stiles’ life for the past two years. You know, just for the fun of it.

On that note, _nephilim_. Because, yes, angels.

…

Stiles is still trying to work through everything he was just told. Mostly because the list of endless questions in his head just keeps growing longer and longer with each second he gets to consider the implications of it all.

And so much for assuming that Beacon Hills - with its werewolves and banshees and faeries and witches and darachs and nogitsune and so on - was exciting. Turns out, Stiles’ little corner of the world has _nothing_ on the big city.

 _Because that would clearly have been too easy, wouldn’t it?_ Stiles thinks in resigned exasperation at the world in general and his life in particular.

There is apparently an entire system in place governing the supernatural in different parts of various countries. First, the more rural areas of the world, where supernatural affairs are overseen by whatever supernatural enclave – whether werewolf pack or vampire clan or magic guild – might have decided to settle in the general area and claim the land as theirs, being checked on by the Tribunal, who in turn reports back to the Clave. And then the larger cities and metropolitan areas where all kinds of not-entirely-human folk gather in comparatively close quarters and still have to get along, being overseen by Downworld leaders and the local nephilim Institutes.

Or Shadowhunter Institutes. Whatever. Stiles isn’t going to get hung up on names right now, too busy fitting all of this new information into his current image of the world.

At this point, Stiles doesn’t know whether to just stare in wide-eyed amazement, or continue babbling endless questions, or whether to simply shake his head in utter exasperation at the absolute ridiculousness that is his life these days.

Thankfully, Magnus and Alec – which is tattoo-guy’s name – have been rather patient with him so far, freely answering the questions Stiles keeps throwing their way. Because _apparently_ Stiles, due to his own – even if still mostly dormant - magic, is actually part of this world. And thus, Magnus and Alec seem to see no reason whatsoever to keep the information from him.

 _People who know what they are talking about, actually answering my questions. What a nice change_ , Stiles thinks sarcastically, almost bitterly to himself _._

Although, Stiles honestly can’t help but wonder why he’s never heard about any of this before, why no one told him about how much further the supernatural world stretches than he’s been aware of until now, why no one has mentioned warlocks or nephilim or even angels and demons for that matter. Sure, most of the pack had been just as thrown-into-the-deep-end where the supernatural is concerned as Stiles himself, and if he - with his endless research binges and mastery at google-fu - hasn’t picked up on any of this, then there is simply no chance the others would have come across any of it.

But what about Deaton? Or Peter? Or even Derek?

Those three know the supernatural world. They _have_ to be aware of all of this.

So, why wasn’t Stiles told.

If he had known that ‘magic’ is something that goes so far beyond those couple of rituals and spells and runic applications Deaton has deigned to share with any of them over the years, if he’d known there is an actual community full of magic beyond the random werewolf pack scattered about the countryside… Then Stiles would have spent all of his weekends, every break from school, every single moment he could spare, traveling to LA or San Diego or any of the within-driving-distance larger cities to seek out the local Downworld communities, would have learned as much about magic and everything else as he possibly could.

Stiles is never content with doing things halfway, and especially not where knowledge is concerned. Whenever he stumbles across a new research topic, anything that pings his interest, he needs to know _everything_ , researches it until the wells of information simply dry up, until there is nothing else to find. Hell, he figured out most of what there is to know about werewolves after Scott was turned just based on endless internet research, before Deaton or Derek ever even deigned to fully stick their noses into their lives, and despite Stiles not having anything to go on beyond the then-so-very-recent development of his best friend suddenly starting to grow fur and claws and really rather impressive teeth.

And Stiles would have done the same with magic. If only he hadn’t had to rely on the mere scraps of magical knowledge Deaton ever deigned to show him.

He pauses, a scowl overtaking his face. Because, yeah, that’s likely the reason for the secrecy right there.

God forbid Stiles ever actually learn enough to keep up with Deaton, much less to outpace the druid.

The fact that Derek – forever-scowling, emotionally stunted, verbally inept sourwolf that he is – didn’t tell him about any of this isn’t the least bit surprising, considering that getting more than a three-word sentence out of the guy at any given time is already quite the feat.

But.

_What about Peter? Why didn’t Peter tell me?_

Peter who likes to be as prepared for anything as he possibly can be, Peter who has been sharing his collection of tomes with him whenever they need to research the monster of the week. Stiles doesn’t get why Peter didn’t tell him about all of this and the world of knowledge waiting for him.

 _Well_ , he thinks to himself. _I’ll just have to ask the creeperwolf exactly that once I get him out of Eichen, won’t I_.

And then, it’s Stiles’ turn to talk, to explain. So, he does.

Magnus’ earlier question about Peter made it rather clear that the man isn’t only out of the loop regarding general events in Beacon Hills, but apparently even thought Peter died years ago, Stiles decides to start at the beginning, to start with the event that is ultimately to blame for the absolute insanity that his own life has become. To start with the fire.

The fire set by Kate Argent, taking out an entire pack with the sole exception of a couple of children. And a man left in a coma, half-dead and abandoned by his own to recover from the injuries and the loss of his pack alone, sending him straight down the path of revenge-fueled insanity, ultimately responsible for dragging Stiles into the supernatural as well, by way of biting his best friend.

Magnus listens to his explanation as he rambles his way through the events around the fire and then more specifically of the past two years after Stiles himself had become aware of the supernatural’s existence, entirely patient and attentive and calm throughout, only ever interrupting to ask for specifications at certain points.

The warlock looks honestly taken aback at the mention of rogue hunters taking out established packs, mouth twisting down at the mention of abandoned pack members, something dark flashing through his eyes at the mention of darachs and pissed of nogitsune, of dark magic and kin-betrayers, of packs that struggle to hold real bonds and bloodthirsty tree stumps making everyone’s lives a literal hell.

It’s almost a little strange how Stiles just keeps talking, telling these two virtual strangers so much of what has happened ever since the first supernatural creature poked his head into Stiles’ life. Sure, he skips past certain things, won’t go into detail on some of the more personal stories for various members of the pack or even for himself. But Magnus doesn’t ask him to elaborate, lets Stiles choose what to tell him, only ever interrupting when Stiles rambles his way past some important piece of information or goes off on a tangent without giving any context on how he got there or how it relates to everything else.

Mostly, Stiles makes himself focus on everything that actually pertains to Peter and his life ever since he woke from a several-years-long coma and how everything descended into utter madness from that moment forward.

Because _everything_ started with Peter, the literally insane alpha who bit Scott, and threw Stiles to tumble ass-over-teakettle into the supernatural.

So, Stiles talks and Magnus and Alec just listen. Although, mostly it’s Magnus who engages in the conversation in turn, asking questions from time to time, while Alec remains a stoic, if impressively intent and constantly attentive, presence at his side.

And, boy, it’s nice to for once be able to get all of this off his chest without being told to shut up about five sentences into whatever monologue he might have rambled his way into.

Although, the mood around the room changes rather drastically when Stiles finally gets around to explaining Eichen House.

Just a few sentences into his explanation of the literal madhouse that still terrorizes Stiles’ own dreams fairly regularly, and Magnus’ expression has started to truly darken for the first time since Stiles started talking, while Alec is getting up from the sofa beside him, phone already in hand as he steps out onto the balcony, his scowl so dark Stiles is getting the definite impression that someone somewhere is about to have a pretty shit day. Just as soon as Alec gets them on the phone.

Magnus however remains where he is, continues to listen.

Sure, it’s somehow strange to talk about Eichen at all. Stiles hasn’t talked about his stay there with anyone, doesn’t want to remind the people he considers friends and family of the time where Stiles had not been in control of his own body, the nogitsune doing all it could to tear them and their lives apart. But as much as he wishes they’d come up with a different solution, he also understands why they put him in Eichen. They hadn’t seen a different way to keep the nogitsune under control or get rid of it.

Except for Peter of course.

And now Peter is the one locked up in there instead.

Once he finally gets to that point, gets around to Peter being locked up against his will for something that someone else did but somehow managed to blame on Peter’s _thoughts_ and the pack just going along with that bit of bullshit, something so darkly menacing shimmers through Magnus’ eyes, all the while his expression smoothes out into something utterly calm, that it has an honest-to-god shiver running down Stiles’ back. And not of the good kind.

By then, Alec has returned, apparently done with his phone call, and Stiles watches Magnus tilt his head slightly to look over at his husband, expression still that same eerie sort of calm, his eyes still glinting with that same implacable fury.

Stiles is getting the feeling that he might have unintentionally opened a far larger can of worms than he ever planned to by coming here, thinks Beacon Hills might be in for some rather world-shifting changes in the very near future.

 _About fucking time_ , he thinks.

At this point, Stiles doesn’t even doubt anymore whether Magnus and Alec are going to help him, everything about them, everything about their reactions to Stiles’ story makes it more than perfectly fucking clear that nothing on this earth could _stop_ them from getting involved now.

And in a sudden moment of clarity, Stiles suddenly realizes that in contrast to what he had expected when he came here, desperately hoping for someone to be willing to help him and thereby Peter in any way at all, there isn’t actually going to be any _planning_ for their rescue mission, that there won’t be any plans made or contingencies discussed for how to to get Peter out of Eichen.

To the contrary.

He thinks it’s far more likely that Eichen House simply isn’t going to be _standing_ anymore by this time tomorrow.

Stiles isn’t at all surprised by the dark satisfaction that runs through him at that thought.

 _Good riddance_ , he thinks to himself

+++

They go to Beacon Hills. Literally.

As in, they just step on over clean across the continent.

Magnus waves his hand, a warpy-looking portal with wonderfully swirly colors springs up in front of them, and they just step through. To the other side of the country.

“Neat,” Stiles grins.

Because, yeah, magic is awesome and once they get Peter out of Eichen, Stiles is so begging Magnus for a couple of lessons or at the very least for a few books to help him learn. If all else fails, Stiles has it on good authority that he is rather excellent at annoying people into giving him what he wants if for no other reason than to shut him up.

Magnus, however, just glances at him, a smile tilting his lips, hand held in Alec’s, the two of them looking the very image of power couple casually on their way to world-domination. Of the magical variety.

Stiles is so very much a fan, and he ignores the utter relief running through him at them coming here within hours of Stiles seeking them out, relief at the fact that ‘helping Peter’ isn’t actually going to be some abstract sort of mission that they’ll have to plan for weeks and months until they’ll be able to do anything.

No, apparently, now that Magnus knows Peter needs saving at all, delaying the rescue doesn’t even seem to occur to him. 

Stiles can certainly get behind that mindset.

+++

Morrell takes one look at Magnus when he steps into her office before she is practically huddling in on herself behind her desk, eyes wide and unwaveringly fixed on the warlock in her office. Stiles figures she is likely able to feel the sheer heat-haze of power radiating off the warlock same as Stiles can.

It’s honestly really rather impressive. Heart-stopping. Terrifying.

“Druid,” Magnus greets her calmly, tone seeming almost cordial, though he apparently can’t be bothered with her name right now, his voice remaining entirely even. Somehow the single-word greeting still comes across as a definite threat.

Stiles just stares on delightedly from the sidelines.

“High Warlock Bane,” she greets back carefully, cautiously, voice not quite wavering but definitely not entirely steady either. It rather clearly gives away that she knows she is screwed for what she has been doing here.

Though, _High Warlock_? The way she says it, it sounds like some sort of title, though Magnus and Alec didn’t mention it in their explanation earlier. Then again, he can always ask them about it later. Stiles fully intends on nagging either or both of them out of more information as soon as he can possibly manage, is practically giddy with the thought of all the things they could teach him.

_Just add it to the list of endless questions to ask them._

There is something dark, something foreboding in Magnus’ voice as he then continues, “I am here to visit my dear friend Peter Hale. I hear you have taken him in as an inmate.” There is a pause, the magic in the room swelling into something more, something other, something ominous. “Or was it ‘patient’?”

Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly open, like she wants to say something, anything to explain or to defend herself or simply to redirect the definite threat humming within Magnus’ magic honed towards her. No words come out.

Another few moments.

“I thought so,” Magnus nods, like she just confirmed some question he didn’t actually ask. “Peter is to be released.” Another moment. “Momentarily.”

She stumbles from behind her desk, like being pulled by strings, her keycard clutched in her hand, doesn’t dare to protest or to even call an orderly to take them to Peter.

Stiles thinks it’s a good call on her part.

Based on the way Magnus is watching her, it would likely be a very bad idea for her to speak so much as a single word right now.

Morrell leads them to Peter’s cell.

First the more ‘normal’ part of Eichen House, the front of ordinary mental patients, which Stiles is fairly certain are likely even treated like they would be in any mental health facility. You know, the best cover stories are those that are true, all the better to cover the darkly abhorrent secrets hiding behind.

And then, the ‘special’ floor.

The more cells they pass, the more supernatural creatures locked behind glass they see, the darker Magnus and Alec’s expressions grow.

By the time they finally reach Peter’s cell, Stiles is convinced that Eichen House is simply done.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks full of dark satisfaction. _This place won’t last the night_.

"Oh, Peter," Magnus sighs, sitting by werewolf’s hip on the mattress, hand drifting slowly through the air above where Peter is lying prone, fingers in constant winding motions, tendrils of magic following in their wake. "How did this happen to you of all people?"

Stiles can see the glow of Magnus’ magic spreading along Peter’s form, like a glowing sort of mist and lightning contained within, quite likely checking or even healing the wolf in some manner.

Peter is so out of it, so clearly drugged out of his mind on wolfsbane, blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of some of the haze keeping him under.

It takes him a while.

"Magnus?" he finally rasps, his gaze not entirely focused as he continues blinking in Magnus’ vague direction. But there is a sudden desperation radiating off the wolf.

 _No,_ Stiles thinks. _Not desperation. But rather a sort of breathtaking, heartbreaking, desperate_ hope.

"Yes, little moonshine," Magnus says gently, hand coming up to brush through Peter's greasy hair, unbothered by the grime. "Stiles came to find me in New York, determined to get you out of here."

Peter blinks again, slowly, like his lids are too heavy to keep his eyes open. "Stiles?"

Stiles swallows. "Yeah, creeperwolf?" he asks, does his best to inject some cheer into his voice, tries to sound nonchalant from where he is still standing beside Alec by the door. Alec whose scowl currently has Morrel and the three orderlies they came across frozen in place in the hallway.

But Peter just blinks at the ceiling, the corner of his mouth twitching the barest bit, almost like he is trying to smile, but quickly giving up again, too tired to even lift his head and look in his general direction. That’s alright. They can do the whole reunion thing later. Once they are out of here and Peter has some of his strength and some of his snark back.

"You just go to sleep, Peter," Magnus murmurs quietly, clearly thinking along similar lines. "Let me take care of everything. And by the time you wake, all of this will be over."

Peter sighs out, eyes closing, already drifting off. Like Magnus saying he’ll fix it, makes it a simple fact.

Which, considering what Stiles has seen so far, likely isn’t all that far off.

Peter’s face is smoothing out in a way that speaks of actual sleep instead of drugged unconsciousness. Seeing Peter with his guard down like this, is kind of breathtaking. And Stiles absolutely _hates_ it, loathes the fact that Eichen House brought Peter - who has spent his every waking minute since his pack burned on making sure to never be so weak to let something of the sort happen again - down to the point where he’d let anyone see that side of himself at all.

 _I’ll burn this place down, all the way to its lowest levels until there is nothing but rubble and ashes remaining_ , Stiles thinks furiously.

Though, he might not need to.

Because when Magnus finally turns to face them standing by the door, there is something blazing in his eyes that quite literally puts the fear of god into Stiles.

And Stiles has faced some shit in his life.

But he's suddenly happy that he's never come across anyone like Magnus before.

Over the next hour or so, Stiles gets to witness the most epic takedown in the history of epic takedowns. As Magnus and Alec go on a - sadly figurative - rampage across the wider Beacon Hills area.

Within mere hours Eichen is shut down, the orderlies and doctors and anyone involved with this madhouse taken into custody, pending investigation for various infractions, the abuse and inhumane treatment of patients being at the top of the list but certainly not the only things.

The normal mental patients are sent to other hospitals around the country, and the creatures being kept here are all taken care of separately.

Apparently, all the creatures being kept here fall either directly or indirectly under some category or other of the Downworld, and Magnus seems to just make the executive decision that they are thus all under his own jurisdiction. Don’t ask Stiles how that works. He just stays with Peter the entire time, while Magnus and Alec tear Eichen to the ground.

Well, they do call in reinforcements.

Suddenly, there are quite a number of people milling around Eichen House, all of whom have the doctors and orderlies practically cowering in corners with their mere presence.

But the people who show up at their call apparently do this sort of thing for a living, know how to assess guilt and innocence as they sort through the supernatural patients and inmates. It's not pure mercy being dished out either. A few of the creatures that had been kept here are sentenced to death right then and there.

Apparently, there are some crimes that the supernatural world will not tolerate, no matter how ‘interesting’ or ‘useful’ as a specimen the prisoners might be. Like the necromancer being kept in one of the sublevels, because anything that involves raising the dead is apparently a big no-no in the supernatural community. Who’da thunk.

For anyone who makes it past that first step of evaluation, mental health checks are underway and then the patients are divvied up between various groups that Stiles never heard of before popping up out of nowhere at Magnus' behest, taking their brethren in, either to be locked away and face the trial systems of their own races, or to be treated and set free once more.

Magnus doesn't even bother talking to Morrell and the other people in charge of Eichen. They are simply led away in cuffs. They don’t even protest, instead just huddle in on themselves whenever they so much as catch a glimpse of Magnus.

Next is the Tribunal, which _should_ apparently have been checking in on the happenings in Beacon Hills, but hasn’t really bothered despite the increasing number of truly-fucked-up happenings in just their town.

The Tribunal which, as it turns out, is under Alec’s purview if only indirectly. Alec who is apparently something of a big deal in the supernatural justice department, or whatever you want to call it.

And Stiles truly thinks the dressing down they get from Magnus' husband over the phone is a thing of pure beauty.

By the end of it, Alec is wearing his darkest scowl yet, has demoted a whole host of people from their positions on the Tribunal via the phone, has demanded whoever is left with a job over there to send out notices to all hunter families that their hunter licenses having been collectively suspended, pending an investigation, and only to be reinstated on a case-by-case basis.

Alec also has the Tribunal sending all of their files and cases from the past couple of decades to his own people to be looked over because, to quote Alec, 'that level of incompetence should be punishable in itself and I am simply unwilling to deal with it'.

Stiles is utterly delighted by it all.

+++

Once Eichen House is emptied out, some of the sublevels having turned up some truly gruesome things that Stiles still doesn’t know what to make of and that are likely going to give him nightmares for the rest of his life, they decide to set up camp in Peter’s apartment.

“Nice ward work,” Magnus hums as he steps inside after Stiles, Peter still asleep and hovering beside him.

Stiles grins at the compliment, feels himself preening a little. But, excuse him. If someone so clearly ridiculously powerful as Magnus thinks Stiles’ desperately thrown together wards are worth noticing, Stiles absolutely deserves to feel a little smug about it.

It’s not like he gets complimented on his skills all that often. Or, ever, really.

Peter is settles into his own bed, Magnus disappears through another portal for a little while to collect some stuff from his own apartment in New York – or ‘Idris’, was it? - and then Stiles gets to witness honest-to-god potion brewing in Peter’s kitchen, with the most eclectic collection of ingredients he has ever seen.

Stiles spends the entire time vibrating giddily in place as he watches Magnus brew the potion, eyes wide and barely blinking lest he miss something. And at first he tries to be sneaky about getting a glance at the vials with the ingredients or at the book that apparently holds the recipe for the potion. Right until he realizes that Magnus apparently has no problem with him not only seeing what he is doing, but is also happy to answer any questions Stiles might have.

Which, yeah. _Someone willingly answering my questions?_ _That’s gonna take a while to get used to._

Though, the real kicker comes when Stiles asks almost distractedly why they aren’t just going back to New York or Idris or whatever for the potion brewing and Peter’s recovery.

At that question, Magnus glances at him, something assessing but also almost sad in his gaze that honestly surprises Stiles, having no idea what about his question prompted that sort of reaction.

Right until Magnus replies with something heavy in his voice, “Because Peter can’t leave. Not like this. Not yet.”

Stiles blinks, utterly taken aback. “Wha-,” he clears his throat. “What do you-?”

Magnus sighs, glancing in the direction where Peter is still sleeping in his bedroom, before he finally adds on, “Peter is the last Hale not to have willingly abandoned these lands. The Hale pack is sworn by blood and magic to protect these lands. It’s an old oath, made to and enforced by the nemeton. With Peter being the only one who hasn’t abandoned that promise…,” he shrugs. “He is more or less alone in carrying the weight of that oath, even more so as he doesn’t have a real pack to share that burden with.”

Stiles stares.

Because, boy, if that doesn’t explain a couple of things.

Not least of which being why Peter is actually still here at all. The town where his family burned, where he was abandoned to suffer alone through a coma, where he himself died, where he tends to be treated as less.

Stiles hadn’t really considered until now whether Peter might still be here because he simply doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

 _Well, that sucks_ , he thinks with a scowl.

“I might be able to do something about it later, but for now it’ll just be easier to stay for a little while longer,” Magnus continues, even as he stirs another ingredient into the potion in front of him, “I already checked the bonds of magic and blood that bind him here. They are _strong_. The land has latched on to him fully, and I truly do not know what might happen if I entirely remove Peter from the nemeton’s reach right now. I’d honestly rather not risk it. You know, since I’m not much in a mood for an apocalypse right now.”

Behind them, Alec huffs a breath from the dinner table, where he has set up camp with the endless stacks of paperwork he has been receiving from the Tribunal. “Good thing we didn’t bring Jace or Clary along, then,” he comments sardonically.

Magnus grins, leans over to press a quick kiss to Alec’s cheek as he passes, and at Stiles’ raised eyebrow supplies, “Let’s just say, this whole certain-people-continuously-creating-potentially-apocalyptic-messes-for-other-people-to-clean-up is in no way specific to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles snorts, unsure whether he should be feeling reassured or terrified at that particular revelation.

+++

There is some more magic, the potion being finished and fed to Peter, then more magic _still_ to rid Peter of the effects of the wolfsbane and return some of his strength to him.

And then, Peter is just back, still tired, still slightly lethargic, but _back_ nonetheless.

Stiles literally feels a weight lifting off his shoulders the moment the wolf opens his eyes, gaze clear and alert once more.

He gets to watch the reunion between Peter and Magnus, which is honestly almost heartwarming to see. The way Peter lets himself be fussed over, lets himself be hugged and even truly returns the embrace, lets himself cling to the warlock for just a moment, just a bare instant of his eyes closed and a tightening embrace, but there nonetheless.

And Stiles desperately needs to find out how these two even met, needs to know how Magnus managed to earn Peter’s unwavering trust to the point that the wolf not only takes Magnus’ assertion that he’ll fix everything as plain fact, but also that he simply accepts Alec’s presence – the presence of a complete stranger – in his den, for no other reason because he’s with Magnus.

And then, Peter is glancing around the room, until his eyes find Stiles, standing at the other end of the couch he himself is sitting on.

“Ah,” Peter rasps, the moment his eyes meets Stiles’, lips quirking up on one side, voice scratchy from disuse, eyes still sunken in from the sort of mental exhaustion that no magic can heal. “I see you simply couldn’t deal without me, sweetheart. Missed me too much, did you?”

Stiles scoffs. “Still the same creeperwolf as always,” he huffs in return, tries not to show just how utterly relieved he is to hear Peter making not-quite-appropriate comments at him again.

All his right in his world.

Well, they still have to deal with the fallout of Stiles going over the pack’s head in getting Peter out of Eichen House. And, boy, will that situation promptly explode in his face the moment Scott finds out.

 _It will still have been worth it_ , Stiles thinks determinedly. _No matter what comes of this, it will still have been absolutely **worth** it._

And as he then settles on the couch next to Peter - Alec and Magnus having returned to the kitchen, Magnus to clean up the brewing station, Alec to continue working their way through the endless stacks of paperwork, clearly happy to give them some time, some space - Stiles doesn’t even pretend to try and keep some distance between them, instead sits quite a bit closer to Peter than is strictly necessary or even polite.

He doesn’t comment on the way the wolf barely makes it a second or two before he is already slumping slightly against Stiles’ side, so clearly seeking contact, their sides pressed entirely together shoulder to knee. Stiles just pretends there is nothing unusual about the proximity, doesn’t comment on the slightly shuddering breath Peter lets out at the contact, the way the wolf lets his eyes fall closed, that final bit of tension bleeding out of his frame, relaxing ever-further the longer they sit there pressed together.

Which isn’t even mentioning the relief Stiles himself feels pulsing through him at having Peter back with him. 

_Yes_ , Stiles thinks to himself _. I have Peter back now. And I’ll just deal with the consequences as they come.  
_

Either way, he absolutely dares anyone to try and take Peter away from him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, of course I had to add another chapter in order to make the rest of the fic fit… But I really hope it will stay at three chapters in total. Next up will be the pack :)
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D
> 
> And thank you so so much for all your amazing comments and kudos!! You guys are awesome <3


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